


What Do You Do At The End?

by MasterJiggywiggy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, M/M, Rated explicit for zombies and violent killings, This is gonna be one hell of a ride, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterJiggywiggy/pseuds/MasterJiggywiggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I woke up one day to the screaming of my girlfriend's father. The sound cut through everything we had ever known. Nothing will ever be the same. <br/>I've seen shit... terrible shit that's happened. I've had to kill things that were once people I knew. These things... they're dead and they feast on our flesh. That is their only objective. My only objective is protecting my girlfriend, Christa, and my best friend, Marco. <br/>My name is Ymir. A few says ago the world went to shit. Before they stopped broadcasting, the news stations were saying that it was the end... but what the fuck do you do at the end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Do You Do At The End?

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend listening to 'THE BEGINNING' by John Murphy from the 28 days later soundtrack while you read. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JKGVMBnB6M8

A breeze was carrying the scent of BBQ on the air. It looked as though a child with paint covered hands had wiped orange and pink across the skyline. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon. We sit on the walkway of our apartment building, Marco and I, feet dangling through the bars of the railing on the side. My door stands open behind us, a steady stream of music drifts from inside. Marco fidgets with his hands and bounces his leg. I put a cigarette between my lips. “Have you heard about that new flu...Or whatever it is that's going around?” he asks as I light my cigarette. I inhale deeply until the smoke begins to burn the back of my throat.

I stare at the sky. I don't want to talk about this, not on a day as peaceful as this one. “Yea,” I sigh with the exhale. Marco has been on about this since the first incident, ever since the first group of people got sick and died. That was two months ago. I wouldn't even think about it if it weren't for him. Dwelling on these kinds of thoughts has never been very appealing to me. 

“What do you think is going on?” His concern was evident. He'd always been this way, caring about everyone, even people he would never know. 

“Some corpse was found in the city's water supply, right? It must have been carrying the bug.” I shrugged. I guess it's serious. Christa told me the other day that about half of the students from the high school are out sick. The news is on about it too. They are calling it this generation's epidemic or some shit. I haven't payed much attention. (Normally, I just keep the TV off. It's only at Marco's that I catch bits and pieces of the news reports. It's all he fucking watches.) Over here we're hooked up to a different water supply so that's another reason I don't think much of it. It's shit, but my girlfriend, Christa, and my best friend, Marco, are safe and that's all that matters to me. 

“Most of the reports said it was still moving.”

“Water moves, dip shit. The body was probably just bobbing up and down with the current.” I take another drag. “What? Do you think the zombie apocalypse is upon us or something?” I laugh as the words roll off of my tongue. The idea is so ridiculous. 

“I dunno, Ymir.” He shakes his head and lets it fall into his hands. “They said it was _wading around_ in the water.” 

“It's all bullshit,” I assure him. “Want a smoke?” I ask, holding my pack out to him. 

He looks at it for a moment before grabbing one between his thumb and index finger. “Thanks,” he mutters as he puts it between his lips. There was something about innocent Marco smoking that just seemed wrong. He only did it every once in a while - normally when him and Jean were having problems. (He says they aren't fucking but they totally are. Well, I think it's more than fucking – They're probably in love. Friends don't act the way that they do. Jean is also the biggest closet case _ever._ ) Even then, him smoking just seems out of place, like he should turn to some other crutch instead. Maybe get addicted to pornography and wank away his cares or something. 

I chuckle as he fumbles with the lighter. “Here,” I spark the flame into existence, no problem. After a few puffs, he finally gets his cigarette lit. He coughs as soon as he inhales. “Take it easy, man,” I had to laugh. 

“Shut up,” his tone is harsh but he is smiling. Then his expression changes almost instantly to one of sorrow, “It's just...People are getting sick enough to die because of this virus.”

“The hospital said the morgues are overfilling.” They were all dead, laying on the cold, stainless steel tables. None of the corpses were just up walking around. 

“Exactly. It's just...It's messed up,” he sighs. 

“Yea, it's really fucked up but just be thankful we're alive and well.”

“Jean and Christa too. I'm glad they live on this side of town.”

“Me too...” The thought of anything happening to Christa is enough to sour my mood almost instantly. 

My phone buzzed in my lap three times, telling me I had a new photo message. I swipe the lock on the screen and am greeted with one of Christa's mischievous photos. “My girl is fucking hot,” I say under my breath. After a moment of admiring the exposed breasts on my screen I lock my phone again. 

“You gonna go?” Marco laughs. He knows me so well. 

“Shit yea, I'm gonna go.” 

“Have fun,” he chortles. He takes another drag before he waves me off. He doesn't cough this time. 

* * * 

Christa was on me before I'd even shut the garage door. “Happy to see me?” I purred into her ear as I let my foot guide the door quietly shut. 

“Shut up and fuck me,” she growled. I loved it when she was like this. There was something so hot about seeing her animal side. She pulls me through the hall until we're entering her room. Then I take control. 

Her body is yearning for my touch. Ragged breaths come from her parted mouth as she kisses my neck and nibbles gently on the skin. I touch her. I put my hands all over her. She arches into my movements. I place my hands on her chest, squeezing her breasts slightly before pushing her lightly back onto the bed. I lift her shirt off over her head with ease. 

There is only desire in her cyan eyes. Her skin is so beautiful, milky and pure. I run my hands across the expanse of it. Her breath catches in her throat. My hands continue roaming, running over the familiar terrain that always leads me home to her, her kisses, her words, and her heart. I am on the bed kneeling in front of her while my hands find their way to the back of her neck. She shudders as I pull her in, kissing her deeply, savoring the way she tastes on the tip of my tongue. I always want to remember the taste of her. 

I yank my shirt off over my head. Her gentle fingers dance across the expanse of my freckled skin. She rests her hands on my abdomen as I arranged myself on top of her. I let my hips move, create friction. She moans and I cup my hand over her mouth. A greedy tongue takes my index finger into her mouth, sucking a nibbling. Her hands wrestle with the buttons of my pants. I slip her floral shorts off with my free hand. She catches her breath again as I slide down the length of her body, placing a light kiss on the fabric of the panties covering her vagina. She moans slightly as I kiss her again. I pull her panties down. I hear her make an “mhm” noise as I kiss her vagina. She wraps her hands up in my hair as I flick my tongue against her clit. I take her and the night fades into a flurry of movement, stifled moans, and silent screams. 

* * * 

She woke me up early. The sun was just peeking over the horizon and barely shining though the curtains. She'd always been a morning person, but something was different today. There was panic etched into every one of her features. A male's scream cut though the silence of the house. “Was that my dad?” she asks in a hushed tone. There was fear in her eyes. 

“I don't know. What's going on?” I ask, startled by the sound and still wiping the sleep from my tired eyes. 

“Come check with me,” she begs. 

“Alright,” I agree. 

We find our clothes and tip toe out in to the kitchen - that's where the sounds are coming from. Neither of us were prepared for what we saw. We could never be prepared for the scene that confronted us. Christa’s mother... or what used to be her mother... was gnawing on the neck of Christa's father. Blood was oozing from his mouth and the various wounds on his body. She was hunched over him, ripping chucks of flesh off of his neck and eating them, gnawing on them like a steak. He was still alive, but only barely. His broken voice was trying to plead for help. His eyes though, they looked as though they might burst from his head, they were blue and tearing up and telling us to run. 

That's when she saw us. I grabbed the first frying pan from the hook on the wall and held it up in a I’m-not-afraid-to-use-this way. It didn't phase her. 

She still looked human. She still looked like Christa's mom – the woman I had eaten across from during family dinners so many times, the smiling woman in the photos distributed around the house. This was Christa's mother...But it wasn't. She still looked human but the evidence surrounding us suggested otherwise. The blood covering her and the strings of flesh caught in between her teeth suggested otherwise. 

I swung when she lunged at me. I just swung and I kept swinging. I hit her square in the torso, I could hear bones snapping, but it didn't slow her down. Teeth flew out when I made contact with the side of her face. The sounds of all the cracking bones and splitting flesh was sickening. So were the sounds, gurgles and screeches, dropping out of the thing's mouth. She was still nearing. I brought the pan down heavy on the top of her head. The metallic clang and cracking of bone sounded loud in my ears. She dropped to the ground, arms still reaching for me. I kept bashing until she ceased moving. By that time there were brains and bone fragments sprayed across the floor in front of me. There was blood splattered across my feet. I could feel it pooling in between my toes. All I could do was look down at her. 

I could hear Christa crying. My thoughts were wild. I had just killed someone...Something. This had been Christa's mother. I killed her. I killed her. _I fucking killed her._

After that, the body didn't even look human to me anymore. Her skin was a ghostly gray color, like she had been dead. I reached down, hand unsteady, and felt her back. She was cold as ice. Cold like death. Suddenly everything Marco had said came at full force to the front of my mind. Undead. Zombies. This thing. I didn't know what it was but it wasn't alive and it... it wasn't human.

My stomach churned. I stumbled away from the body and vomited in the corner of the room. It was all too much. It couldn't... couldn't be true. 

Christa was still crying in another corner of the room, holding her father's hand. He was gone now. The blood flowed from the gashes in his throat at a steady pace. Christa's shorts were soaked in it. 

“Christa... baby,” it was hard to find my words. “We need to go. We need to get out of here.” 

She looked at me like I was a beast but she nodded. I'd just killed her mother. She'd watched me kill her mother. 

I peeked through the cracks in the blinds. There were more of them...whatever Christa's mother had become. They were congregating in the street around what looked like two small corpses. I recognized the bodies as a couple of the kids that lived on Christa's street. I'd often seen them running around the neighborhood playing ball. They couldn't have been older than six. They were so young and so full of life but now they were... they were splayed across the road becoming meals for the parents and friends they had trusted until the very end. Everything that they were or could have ever been was pooling on the cold, black ground. Intestines and blood were smeared across the asphalt. The creatures were hunched over, ripping chucks of flesh off the corpses with their teeth and hands. Every one of their maws was covered in blood. The scene was terrifying. It was something straight out of a horror film... only this was real. 

“We need to go,” I repeated. “We need to go and we need to check on Marco. I have to check on Marco.” I ran back into Christa's room when Marco's name fell out of my mouth. Twenty-four missed calls on my phone. Voice mails. Text messages. They were all from Marco. I couldn't find my voice. I clicked the buttons rapidly, writing a message. 

Y: What the fuck is going on

M: About time you answered. I don't know what's happening. It's all over the news. They're saying it's the end

Y: What happens now? What do you do at the end?

M: Idk. I need to go get Jean 

Y: Wait for me. We're comin

M: OK

* * * 

We packed up everything that we could. We packed it all into several plastic bins that Christa found stacked up in the garage. We took the comforters off all of the beds and the sheets out of the linen closet. Christa grabbed up six or so extra pairs of clothes. We didn't bother with grabbing any frozen or refrigerated food. We just grabbed the stuff out of the pantry because it stacked much easier in the bins. There were a few large cutting knives in the kitchen. Also, there were a couple utility knives in the garage on the workbench. I had to pick the lock to get into Christa's dad's gun closet, but there were six guns in there. Four of them were handguns of various sorts and the other two were souped up hunting rifles. Then we packed it all into the back of my SUV and we were ready to leave before Christa said, “chainsaw?”

“What?”

“Should we get the chain saw? Do you think it would be useful?” Christa has watched far too many damn horror movies. Of course she'd come up with the idea of obtaining a chainsaw. 

“Probably,” I admitted. “Where is it?”

“It's in the shed.”

“Shit,” of course it was in the shed. In her unfenced backyard. Of fucking course. “Alright, I'll go get it.” 

“Be safe.” 

I nod and begin to head towards the back door. Peeking through the small window, I see nothing but the yard. So I sneak out, quiet as I can, back into the shed. The chainsaw isn't hard to find, It's propped up by Christa's dad's workbench. The gas is another story. I rummage through all the shit in the shed. When I lift up an old, blue tarp I find the gas cans. There are three of them, five gallons each. I throw them into a cardboard box that is laying on the ground. I set the chainsaw on top of the box and pick it all up. 

Of course there was one of those fucking things in the yard. It was close too. I couldn't run. I dropped the box and grabbed the chainsaw. I don't know how to work it. I press buttons and pull at the string until it roars to life. The thing seems to perk up at the sound. It starts to stumble forward at a quicker pace. Fuck. 

I swing with all my strength and catch it across the stomach. Guts pour out. The whirling blades send the innards flying. Some of them splash across my shirt. I flinch. I can feel the vomit rising in my throat. The thing stumbles but then continues to advance. The intestines make awful noises as the creature walks over them. The slick surface of blood covered grass slows its pace. 

I swing again. This time I hit it in the face. The blades rip through the flesh and slice the top of its head cleanly off. Blood sprays everywhere. I close my eyes tight as I feel the spray hit my face. The corpse drops heavy to the ground, still twitching a bit. 

After a few seconds I figure out how to turn the chainsaw off. As soon as it's off I see them – the ones that were out front. They're coming. I drop the chainsaw back onto of the box and grab everything up. I run. I run into the door and slam it shut behind me. I'm in the hallway when I hear the glass shatter and the wood splinter. They're in the house.

“Christa, start the car!” I scream as I run through the door to the garage. “Right fucking now!”

The engine sputters to life as I throw the box and myself into the open trunk. She starts moving as I'm pulling the trunk closed. I feel the car accelerate underneath me. My breaths aren't coming easily to me. 

“Where do I go?” Christa asks quietly.   
I have to steady my breathing. “To my place. We'll figure the rest out from there.” 

* * * 

“Marco!” I shout as I barge into his apartment. “Marco!”

“I'm here,” He whispers from where he was sitting on the couch. His hands are clenched tightly together.

The news is on. They're talking about bombs and the troops that were overwhelmed by the undead. “...Officially in a state of emergency. We do not know how to explain what is happening but scientists all over the world are working on finding a cure for this terrible virus. They're calling this virus T.I.T.A.N...” 

“We need to get Jean,” Marco says as he stands up. “He's trapped in the laundry room. His whole family has turned.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I wipe the sweat and blood from my forehead. 

“We need to go,” the fear in his voice overshadowed the determination.

I jerk my thumb backwards, “my car is full. We'll have to take yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this story for so long! Finally, finally the first chapter is finished! I'm so pleased with the way that it has turned out. I hope you will enjoy it too!   
> This story has become very dear to me in the past few weeks. I've been working non stop on outlining and writing. I'm also writing a partner series for this that will simply be titled Journals that is going to be Journal Entries by Ymir. This is something I will follow through until the very end.   
> On my tumblr, nug-humping-dirt-farmer.tumblr.com, I have a tag dedicated to this story. it's just #wdydate if you are interested in the progress of the story. I will try to update as regularly as I possibly can but I do not want to rush this, i want it to be as perfect as possible.


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